Bundle of Joy
by RossyBowties
Summary: John is finding it hard to put up with his flatmate. When a baby is found on their doorstep, will this new arrival make or break his and Sherlock's relationship? Sherlock/John
1. Chapter 1

Even the loud bubbling from their ancient kettle and the blaring advertisement jingle coming from the television couldn't block out the insistent squeaking flowing from Sherlock's violin. After living with Sherlock for quite a number of months, John could predict the amount of sleep he would receive each night. Unfortunately, that evening had been one in which Sherlock had been pondering their latest case, right at the climax of the situation.

"Four patch problem, John, four!" He had yelled, slamming his bedroom door in a huff. Not too long afterwards, a chorus of twangs had drifted from his bedroom and to the sitting room, where John had been trying to finally relax. The violin had been taken out of Sherlock's cupboard and put to use, high pitched notes swirling around 221b Baker Street.

John rubbed his forehead tiredly and began to make himself a cup of tea, deciding that it would probably be a four hour sleep that night, beginning at three in the morning and ending when he would be awoken at seven, Sherlock pounding on his door and ordering him to get ready so that they could study the crime scene once more.

For one beautiful, much-needed moment, the house fell silent. Sherlock stopped playing, the kettle finished boiling and John had switched off the television. John sighed. Peace at last. Then the silence filled with a strange noise, a muffled sob. At first, with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, John thought it was Sherlock crying. Perhaps this case really was too much for him. No, of course not. Sherlock didn't show emotion.

John quickly realised that the noise was in fact coming from downstairs, and if he strained hard enough, he could deduce that it was coming from right outside their front door. A wailing sound, unlike the wind which was rather floaty and peaceful that night, barely rustling the trees. This sound was very humanlike.

"Sherlock, I think there's someone at the door!" John called, but no reply came from Sherlock's room. With a sharp grunt, John pushed himself off the sofa and padded down the stairs. As he pulled open the door, a rush of cool night air hit his face and he gulped it down, letting it fill his lungs pleasurably. He heard a small gurgle and stopped dead, peering down to his feet.

There, on the doorstep, wrapped in a clean white blanket, was a baby. John's mouth dropped and he just stared down at it, unable to move for a moment. He looked around, studying the street for the owner of the baby, however the street was empty, bathed in a synthetic streetlight glow.

Looking back down at the baby, John let out a hiss of air, his breath visibly rushing from his mouth and evaporating into the night. He shook his head and grudgingly lifted the child into his arms, holding it to his chest where it wriggled comfortably. The doctor could feel it breathing against his ear and he couldn't suppress a small smile. He shut the door behind them, shutting his eyes and wondering for a moment if he was just imagining things. He blinked his eyes open. No, that was definitely a baby. But whose? And how did it happen to arrive at their door? John noticed a slip of paper hidden amongst the folds of the blanket and pulled it out, reading the words printed upon it.

"His name is Matthew, congratulations to the happy couple."

John's eyes widened, which happy couple? In his confusion he hadn't noticed Sherlock had emerged from his bedroom to stand in front of John, eyes squinted.

"John, is that, er, is that a baby?" Sherlock asked as John looked up at him. John nodded, mirroring the look of suprise on Sherlock's face. Even the world's best and only consulting detective couldn't understand why on earth John had found a child outside, in the middle of the night.

"Well, what is it doing here?" Sherlock asked.

"He." John corrected.

"What?" Sherlock snapped impatiently.

"It's a he, and his name's Matthew."

Sherlock snatched Matthew from John's arms, to John's loud protests, and began to study it. No bombs strapped to his chest, no signs of weapons or anything which could harm them. Surely this couldn't be the work of Moriarty, could it? Why on earth would Moriarty give them a baby?

Sherlock went on to deduce more about the baby. Yes, definitely a boy, 9 months and approximately 3 weeks old, unfortunately impossible to make a closer estimate. It came from a wealthy family according to its weight and the fabric of the blanket. So therefore not a beggar's child, dropped of with the hope of a more prosperous future with a loving couple. Blue eyes, therefore most likely to have two blue-eyed parents because of its genetics. Still warm, must have been dropped off fairly recently.

"Will you hold him properly!" John growled, carefully taking Matthew back into his arms and holding him properly, like he once used to hold his cousin Joseph. Sherlock glared at the both of them, then softened his gaze at John's alarmed look.

"Matthew, how did you know?" Sherlock asked.

"Huh?" John mumbled distractedly, waving his pinky in front of the child's face until he grabbed it with his whole hand and giggled delightedly.

"How did you know his name was Matthew?" Sherlock asked, his voice evidently hinting at how impatient he was. John sighed and handed him the slip of paper which Sherlock firstly sniffed, then brushed over it with his fingertips. John watched him in amusement, bouncing Matthew against his chest. Sherlock's eyes flickered over the note and he squinted again, John almost swore he could hear the cogs in his flatmate's brain whirring in thought.

"So a baby arrives on our doorstep in the middle of the night. Not long after, as if planned precisely, you hear it crying and answer the door to receive it. The baby is clearly old enough to survive on its own for at least a few hours, around 9 months old, meaning that this was even more cleverly planned. He comes from a wealthy background, so it wasn't just dropped off here for the hope of a better future, even more reason to be suspicious. And if that wasn't enough the note was typed instead of hand written and was clearly aimed at us."

"Clearly?" John raised an eyebrow. "In what way are we a 'happy couple'?" He asked, his face completely serious but if you looked closely enough, you could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"It's a joke, John, a prank, a trick. Or even worse, it's a trap."

"Oh come on, Sherlock, not everything is dangerous. He's just an innocent baby. No bombs, no explosives. Just a little…bundle of joy." John blushed heavily as he let the last phrase slip, his cheeks flushing a brilliant shade of pink.

Sherlock gave a quick smirk before grasping Matthew back into his arms, holding the baby as far away from his body as he could. He hurried back upstairs, laying him down on the kitchen table. He began to play with test tubes, odd coloured fumes smoking from them and filling the room with awful smells. John jumped in front of Sherlock, blocking his view of the table, with an incredibly angry look on his face.

"John, I'm trying to work here!" Sherlock hissed, casting him aside. On the table, Matthew began to wail unpleasantly and Sherlock grimaced at him, his brow creasing. He lifted Matthew into the air and then placed him into a large bowl. He then picked up a test tube and placed it over the bowl, frowning in concentration.

"No, NO! That baby is not another one of your experiments! He's crying for God's sake! Damn it, Sherlock! When will you learn?" John scooped Matthew from the bowl and held him against his chest protectively, kissing the top of his warm head just as the baby fell silent.

"Oh don't get sentimental!" Sherlock snapped. "He's here for a bad reason, John. Why else would someone have left him with us?"

The shorter man of the two ignored him, taking a seat in his armchair and rocking Matthew gently in his arms. It took this gesture for Sherlock to realise just how exhausted John was. There were big, dark circles under his eyes and the look of adventure and excitement had vanished from his features, leaving the look of fatigue behind. John peered up at him under heavy eyelids and Sherlock sighed, giving a defeated shrug.

"I guess he can't harm us. But we're not keeping him, he'll just get in the way." John didn't reply, just nodded, already drifting off into sleep.

As both Matthew and John began to snore quietly, Sherlock acknowledged just how innocent they seemed together. John was definitely the fatherly type, and he seemed to suit having a baby rested against his chest. Christ, was Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, falling for his flatmate because he looked cute with a baby? Sherlock cursed at himself inwardly. Cute. A word which he despised so greatly yet it fitted so well.

Taking one last look at his sleeping doctor and new little flatmate, absorbing the image and storing it away in his vast mind, he turned to go to bed. This time, he decided, he would not consider playing the violin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: I know i've updated this fanfiction quickly but I actually wrote it a long while ago and am only publishing it now. I think I know where this story may go and i'm worry it is a little slow, as I am only just getting started. There will be a lot more Sherlock/John to come as well as lots of cute fluffiness. I love reviews, so please feel free to share your thoughts.**

Watery rays of sunlight poured through the gaps in the curtain and splayed across the sofa, carefully creeping upward as dawn rise transformed into the late morning. John stirred slightly as the sun's warmth tickled his cheek and as he did so, he awoke the snoozing baby on his chest. Matthew gave a sharp cry which awoke the doctor very suddenly and he jerked forwards, catching Matthew just in time in the palm of his strong hand.

"Oh." Was all John could manage as the memories of the previous night flooded back into his head and the baby in front of him became recognisable. He pushed himself off the sofa with one hand, groaning as his knees clicked slightly, and rocked Matthew gently to calm him down. He flattened the small tuft of fluffy brown hair on the baby's head and rubbed his nose against it, chuckling to himself. Matthew's tiny fingers curled into John's shirt and tugged it slightly.

"Coo-ee!" Mrs Hudson's sing-song voice called from below them and the sound of her heels tapping against the wood of the stairs became gradually louder until the door opened and a cheery face popped around it. "John, dear! I was wondering if…oh. Gosh." She stopped talking for a moment to stare at Matthew who hiccupped in her direction. "Now who is this little fellow?" She grinned, her eyes going wide.

"Ah, Mrs Hudson." John rubbed his eye with his free hand and gave a slight yawn. "This is Matthew. He appeared on our doorstep yesterday morning, you wouldn't have any idea where he came from, do you?"

Mrs Hudson shook her head, her face coated in delight as she cooed at Matthew, tickling his tummy. "I haven't a clue. I bet Sherlock isn't happy about this new arrival." She laughed quietly and allowed the room to fade into a comfortable silence. John looked wonderful with a child, Mrs Hudson decided. He looked softer, less military-like and more fatherly. His hand was cradling the child protectively and his eyes had a distinct glow to them which she had seen before in the eyes of dads holding the hands of their children, walking through the park on warm afternoons.

"Not really." John chuckled, bringing his other hand to support Matthew and holding him to his chest where he burbled happily. "He thought that the baby was a trap. He thought it was Moriarty or something, trying to catch us off guard. To be honest, what I'm most worried about is clothing the poor thing. And I'll need a pram, and bottles and nappies and all that."

"Oh, actually dearie." Mrs Hudson tapped her hand against John's arm. "I've got lots of my son's old baby things hidden in a box somewhere. I was keeping them in the off chance that he'd use them for his child someday, but he never seemed to need them. I could fetch them?"

"That would be brilliant, thank you." John nodded, watching the woman as she tottered off downstairs again, mumbling to herself about what a miracle the child was. John peered down at the child in his arms. A miracle? Perhaps. More like a hindrance to Sherlock. Just as he thought of his flatmate, the man walked through the open door and flung himself onto the sofa.

"Nothing." He snapped, shutting his eyes tight and unfolding himself over the length of the sofa, stretching from one end to the other.

"What's nothing?" John asked with a slight sigh, gently placing Matthew in his armchair as he went to the kitchen to make a strong cup of tea for himself and his flatmate.

"Nobody has any idea about this baby. I checked the cctv cameras of the street, there are no traces of where it came from. A very blurry black figure places him on the doorstep then waddles off. I can't even begin to deduce who the person is, it was just such a rubbish recording. I've asked Lestrade, Mycroft, anyone that would have an idea. Nothing." He spat the last word, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Look, Matthew is causing us no danger being here." John poured the boiling water into his mug, then Sherlock's. "He's got nowhere to go. Maybe he was honestly just given to us as a gift."

"God, you're so naïve John!" Sherlock yelled, scaring Matthew and causing him to wail out in fear. Sherlock rolled his eyes, turned over on the sofa and curled into a ball, covering his ears with a pillow. John slammed his teaspoon down onto the counter and ran to the child, lifting him into his arms once more and rocking him gently, but Matthew continued to holler.

"JOHN SHUT THAT THING UP!" Sherlock shouted, throwing the pillow in John's direction. It was just at that moment that Mrs Hudson appeared at the door and John quickly made his way over to her, thrusting Matthew into her arms. He then stormed back over to Sherlock, hands on his hips, his face burning with rage.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, LOOK AT ME THIS INSTANT!" Mrs Hudson squealed in shock at John's outburst and covered Matthew's ears, carrying him back down the stairs. "I've put up with your experiments, your violin playing through all hours of the night, your shooting of the walls, your insulting comments about how 'dull' I am. I've put up with it all. And you know why? Because sometimes you make the world seem so much more exciting. You make my life so much brighter, so much better. You're the most arrogant sod I've ever met, but you're also the most incredible." John's rage rattled through him and he sighed as it dissipated, his red face fading back to its soft shade of pink. He sunk into his chair, looking down from Sherlock's piercing blue eyes and focussing on his feet.

"You know what? I've wanted a child ever since I was one myself. I'm getting old now Sherlock. I might never have the chance, especially not with the lives we lead..." He turned his voice into a whisper, his words cracking slightly. Sherlock knew that these were things John had never uttered to another soul and he walked to where John was sat, kneeling in front of him.

"Continue, John, please." He muttered, placing a hand on John's knee which seemed to burn through the fabric, the warmth spreading through his entire leg. John shivered slightly and nodded, his mouth going dry as it continued to become more difficult to speak.

"I really enjoy having Matthew here. I'd love to just keep him, please? Even if it's only for a little while longer. A week or two? Just until we can find him a safer home." John coughed into the tension ringing through the air, breaking it slightly. Sherlock sighed, nodding his curly mop of hair and standing up.

"Okay." Was all Sherlock said before sitting back on the sofa, pressing his palms together and resting his fingers against the bridge of his nose. John breathed out heavily through his nose, relaxing slightly into the chair and uncurling his once clenched fists. He rose shakily from his seat, silently deciding that the conversation was over, and made his way downstairs to apologise to Mrs Hudson and to sort through the baby things she had kindly fetched for him.

Sherlock watched him leave with the smallest of smiles on his lips. John Watson. His stubborn best friend. He almost felt guilty for being so harsh on the man, and decided there and then that keeping Matthew, if it made John happier, was the least he could do to repay him. Well, he wondered, how difficult could it be to look after a baby?


End file.
